


The Night is Ripe With Secrets

by Seonaid



Series: But Keep Your Enemies Closer [1]
Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:50:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3416525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seonaid/pseuds/Seonaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why had the Gods seen fit to torture him with this aggravating Europa merchant?</p>
<p>(Part Two of "But Keep Your Enemies Closer")</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night is Ripe With Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part Two of But Keep Your Enemies Closer series. Thanks to my amazing beta Aislinn.

Prince Jingim lay awake as the morning sun heated a square on the deep pile rug of his room. He contemplated the carved lions in the wooden ceiling above his bed. He thought they almost looked like dragons with their fierce scowls, sharp teeth and claws. He had intended to try to wring the truth from Marco when he demanded that Marco join him in his quarters the night before. But, as he sat and brooded over a bowl of ayrag, his thoughts had taken a detour from the frustration and anger he had felt. His mind kept slipping to Marco's thick curly hair, his ridiculous Venetian accent, his pink lips..

Jingim knew that the Latin had been withholding information from him regarding the attempt on his father's life. And he suspected that the Khan knew full well that Marco was lying to Jingim. This frustrated Jingim even more than being lied to - the thought that his own father did not trust him with the information that his half-brother Byamba and Marco had found at Kochkor. Byamba was the Khan's son by one of his concubines and had little chance at taking the throne. Jingim loved his brother, but the distrust of all those around him coloured his feelings, as his hold on being the Khan's heir was in peril at all times. His father's trust and confidence in the Latin enraged him. He should be the most trusted member of his father's court. He was, after all, the next Khan of Mongolia.

Then, there was this absurd lust he felt for his Venetian slave. When he had all the wives he could keep satisfied, why did he have to be obsessed with the Latin? He grudgingly admired Marco's skill with the sword, his riding ability, his proficiency at archery. Marco's round, guileless eyes, his hands - rougher and larger than Jingam's own - that touched him so gently the night before...

With a huff of disgust, Jingim lept out of bed and called out for his bath to be drawn. He would discover who was guilty of the assassination attempt. And when he did, his sword would drip with blood.

Jingim did not see Marco for several days after their encounter in the night. Jingim was busy with matters of court, but occasionally thought that perhaps the Latin was avoiding him. Twice, he had seen his father putting away the game pieces that he had, apparently, been playing with in the company of Marco. But, Marco was always gone before Jingim's arrival, almost as if Marco could read his mind. Maddening. Finally, on the fifth day, Jingim came suddenly upon Marco and Ahmad, his father's treasurer and Jingim's own friend, speaking quietly in a hallway. Their conversation halted abruptly as they both bowed to the Prince.

Jingim silently gazed at Ahmad with a tiny flare of jealousy, studying the man's handsome face. He could detect no hint of malice or treachery. “I would speak to my slave in private.”  
Ahmad soundlessly bowed and slipped away. Marco, head still bowed, stood waiting for the Prince to speak first.

“And what were you two whispering about in the dark, Latin?” Jingim said sharply.

Marco, startled, looked up at Jingim, “Nothing of consequence, Prince. Ahmad was just enquiring as to my health”.

Jingim looked closely at Marco's face, the faint shadows beneath his eyes. “Has your sleep been disturbed, Latin? Do you wrestle with matters of conscience or... perhaps... other burdens weigh upon you?”  
“I'm sure, my Prince, I know not of what you speak.” But Marco's expression betrayed him. Clearly, Marco was deeply worried about something. Jingim sniffed and narrowed his eyes.

“Master Marco. You must know that nothing can be kept from the heir to the Great Khan. Your reluctance to speak freely to me does not bode well for you. The intrigues of the court are not a game. If you are found to be unworthy, blood will be shed. Make no mistake.”

Marco paled visibly in the dim light. He started to speak, then coughed before protesting, “My Prince, I assure you. I have only the best intentions toward my Khan and all of his court. I don't know what to say to convince you of this. Please... Jingim... please...”

Jingim's eyes snapped at these last words, “Prince. You will address me as Prince, Latin.” Jingim's temper flared for a few seconds and he considered drawing his sword. But at the stricken look on Marco's face, Jingim softened his expression, closed his eyes for a beat, then opened them to stare directly into Marco's eyes. Jingim took the one step forward that placed him almost touching Marco.  
“I know that YOU know who made the attempt on my father's life. What I don't know is why you are keeping this knowledge from me.” Jingim placed two fingers on Marco's jaw and scratched his nails down through the scruff there. Smoothly he said, “But know this, I will discover the truth. I will protect my father and this dynasty. And when I do, there will be much bloodshed. Which side will you be on, Master Marco?” These last words were spoken softly, but with darkness and more than a hint of danger. 

Marco lifted his eyes to Jingim's face, searching and silently pleading, but for what, Jingim was at a loss. Jingim's eyes flashed black, his lips pressed together, teeth clenched. Marco exhaled with his lips slightly apart and flexed his fingers as if in an attempt to prevent himself from reaching out.

“My Prince, you must believe me. I do only as the Khan bids. I am his humble servant. I would wield my sword by your side in his defense. The Khan has only your best interests at heart...” At these words, Marco seemed to realize he had said too much. Jingim grabbed his throat and slammed him against the stone wall.

“MY best interest is to know what is in his heart, and yours. You say you would fight alongside me, and yet, I do not trust you to clean my boots. Latin, you will meet me in the rooms of the Sifu. We will see just how far your alliance is willing to go. Be prepared to fight.” With this, Jingim abruptly let go of Marco and stalked off, robes swirling, hair escaping its fastenings, leaving Marco leaning against the wall for support.

Later, when Jingim had calmed down, he considered abandoning the sword and taking Marco to bed instead. As much as he was jealous of Marco's friendship with his father, his desire for the man was always simmering under the surface.

However, the distrust won out over lust, and he made his way to the practice room occupied by the Sifu, Hundred Eyes. The blind Kung Fu master had taught Jingim how to fight since his first steps. Although sightless, the Sifu saw much more than any ordinary man could see with two good eyes.  
Hundred Eyes was sitting quite still drinking tea in the centre of the large empty room when Jingim arrived.  
“Sifu..,” Jingim acknowledged out of respect, even though he knew Hundred Eyes must have heard him coming long before his arrival. “I request the practice room for the next while. Alone, if you please.” Hundred Eyes smiled slightly, and took a sip of his tea. “Alone, Prince Jingim?”

Jingim sighed heavily and admitted, “Not quite alone, Sifu. Do you read minds as well as see with sightless eyes? I have a few things to settle with the Latin. Perhaps he will be more forthcoming after the clash of steel has his ears ringing and his arms shaking in fatigue.”

Hundred Eyes raised his eyebrows and set down his tea on the tile floor while he stood in one swift movement. “Then, Prince, I shall leave you to it. But, Confucius says- silk pillows are softer than hard floors, though neither will tell tales.”

Jingim looked sharply at his Sifu and said, “You made that up.”

Hundred Eyes bent over to pick up the tea cup as accurately as if he could see it, and in doing so hid the smile on his face. He bowed then swept quickly out of the room.

Jingim had donned trousers tied tightly at the ankle and a tunic tied similarly at the wrists. He swung his sword in the air a few times while wondering at Sifu's words. Was he that transparent? Did all of the court know of his craving for the Venetian? He swung the sword more forcefully and gritted his teeth in frustration. Why was it so hard to gain his father's trust and confidence? Why was it so hard to control his desires of the flesh? And why had the Gods seen fit to torture him with this aggravating Europa merchant?

Jingim's bare feet moved swiftly across the tile floor, as he parried, jabbed and deflected an imaginary sword in the air. A movement caught the corner of his eye, and he whirled around to see Marco, dressed similarly, standing in the shadowy doorway watching him. Jingim flicked the hilt of a sword standing in the armory rack with the tip of his own sword and watched it whistle through the air toward Marco. Marco's reflexes were good and he caught it cleanly and assumed a stance. They stood, each in his own stance, still and silent waiting for a quiver of movement from the other. As one, they lunged to action, meeting in the middle of the room as the clang of metal against metal rang out. They held each other’s sword caught at the hilt, straining to keep the hold as they glared into each other’s eyes with fury and determination before breaking free and dancing around in a circle swinging wildly and matching thrust for thrust, hit for hit, advancing and retreating until they both held again, the hilts caught against one another. 

Panting, and breathless, Jingim watched Marco struggling to keep his posture, breathing ragged, sweat beading on his brow. “Well done, Latin. However, we have only just begun.” With that, Jingim pushed Marco backwards with a great heave which took him off his feet. Marco landed heavily on his rear, sliding a ways on the smooth floor, sword bouncing out of his hand to crash on the tile a few feet away. Jingim lunged forward and down, with his blade pressed against Marco's throat. For a beat they eyed each other warily, then Jingim tossed his sword aside. In a split second, Marco had grasped Jingim's left arm and tumbled him upside down to land hard on his back while Marco twisted up and holding Jingim's arm taut, stopped just short of breaking it. Without hesitating, Jingim thrust his legs up in the air and used the momentum to turn Marco off his balance. Marco landed heavily on top of Jingim and in the next second, Jingim had him pinned beneath him. Their faces were so close they were inhaling each others breath. Muscles straining, neither giving way to the other, they gazed furiously into each others eyes. The anger and adrenaline sharply shifted to need for them both. At once, they were kissing deeply, with a ravenous appetite for the touch of the other.

Jingim pulled at Marco's tunic with one hand, kissing and biting his chest while trying to undo his trousers with the other.

Marco gasped, “ Not here, not here Jingim...”

“Prince”, Jingim hissed, still working on Marco's clothing.

“Prince, please, not here. We will be discovered!”

Jingim's hands slowed, as Marco's words sunk in. He stood quickly and turned to lean, panting, on the ledge of the window where the diffused light came through the oiled paper. “Saddle a horse, Latin”, he bit out. And meet me beyond the ridge where the ground slopes to the stream in the deep grass. And be quick about it.” Jingim turned and left without another glance toward Marco, who was left standing in the darkening room, his clothing disheveled, sweat chilling his skin.

Jingim's horse swivelled her ears and looked at him as if wondering why they were going riding at this late hour. Jingim scratched her white neck and swung his leg up to mount her in one swift motion. He brushed the loose wisps of hair out of his eyes and clucked his horse forward. He had no idea why he had suggested they meet out on the steppe when his comfortable rooms were so near by. His need for the Latin was like an itch he couldn't reach, a nagging irritant, but so close to being sated. He thought maybe he wanted a roughness in their coupling, to match his harsh judgement of himself. And, there was always the threat of exposure. He could not explain his feelings to himself, never mind to his wives or his father. He was hoping that the lust would burn itself out, and free him from his obsession with the Venetian. If the man did, indeed, turn out to be a betrayer, he would meet his death, and Jingim would be free of him. Jingim's mood lightened the farther he got from the palace, however.

The moon was nearly three quarters full now, and gave a strong white glow to the countryside as darkness descended. He could see Marco standing with his horse just where Jingim had told him to be.  
Jingim dismounted and untied the fastenings of the bedroll he had brought. Without a word to Marco, he spread the skin and furs on the ground. “Well, Latin”, Jingim sneered, “Here we are. You could be dead, but you wait for me, like a maiden for her nomad lover.”

Marco's face darkened and he launched himself at Jingim, arms outstretched, knocking Jingim off his feet onto the makeshift bed. "Why?" he sputtered into Jingim's face. "Why do you mock me, why would you want me since you so fiercely hate me?" Jingim's only answer was to wind his fingers in Marco's curly hair and tug him down into a bruising kiss, his legs around Marco's waist holding him tight.

Jingim knew that he was driving Marco to desperation, and yet, he urged him on. Marco was now the one pulling and pushing Jingim's clothes off and then his own. Jingim gasped as he felt Marco take first one hardening nipple into his mouth, then the other. He felt Marco's hands everywhere on his body, hot and searching, and finally grasping his hardened cock in one hand, his balls in the other.  
“Take me into your mouth. Do it now,” he whispered urgently while arching his back and pushing his cock between Marco's lips. Marco tentatively licked the drop of moisture that had formed on the tip of Jingim's cock. With a glance up for assurance, he licked all around the head, then pushed the foreskin back with his lips, but clumsily scraped his teeth along the sensitive skin. Jingim flinched back with a sharp hiss.

Marco jerked his head up, “I'm sorry Prince, I've never... I've not done this before,” Jingim barked out a short laugh and turned Marco onto his back, his head supported by the furs. Straddling him, Jingim eased his cock back into Marco's mouth, more gently this time.

“Just suck, that's right, hollow your cheeks and cover your teeth with your lips. Easy now, yes that's it,” Jingim encouraged him. Marco had a hold of his balls, almost too tight, sliding them beneath the loose skin. Jingim was breathing heavier while pulling Marco's hair, thrusting into his mouth, his legs beginning to shake with the effort. Marco's wet mouth was perfect, hot, sucking, tongue and lips slippery. Jingim knew he would not last long. He threw his head back with a shout as his release shot into Marco's throat. Marco, not managing to swallow fast enough, was gasping and sputtering, his eyes watering. Then Jingim's mouth was upon Marco's, licking and kissing up the wetness from Marco's lips and cheek.

At length, Jingim sat back on Marco's chest, his naked bottom tickled by the thick curly hair growing there. Jingim wiggled and laughed softly, “Latin, it's your turn. How do you want me? On my back or kneeling?”

Marco's round eyes widened as he realized what Jingim meant. “Prince, are you asking me to... do you want me to... that is, I mean to say, can I...” Marco stuttered.

“Yes, Latin, I want your cock in my ass, you have my permission to fuck me.”

Marco lifted Jingim up and turned to lay him down on the furs. In the moonlight, Marco's face was a study of shadow and light, an expression of wonder and anticipation on his face as he gazed down at the Prince. Jingim thought at that moment, Marco's was the most interesting face he had ever seen.

“Prince, I have nothing to ease the way.” Marco suddenly looked doubtful.

“Oh, in my saddle bag,” Jingim waved in the direction of the grazing horses. Marco's warm body left him for a moment and Jingim looked up at the moon in a sky with an unimaginable number of stars. It occurred to him that in this moment, the struggles and intricacies of the palace seemed far away from the endless expanse of the steppes. Marco returned with the small bottle of oil and dropped down between Jingim's knees. He looked expectantly at Jingim as if awaiting instruction, but Jingim just gazed at him with lowered lids, mouth open slightly, and spread his knees a little farther. Marco smiled shyly back at him as he stroked up Jingim's legs to between his thighs, murmuring how soft the skin was there. Marco slid his hands under Jingim's buttocks, squeezing at the muscle and smooth skin. He brushed his fingertips against the opening to Jingim's body, then gently pushed his cheeks aside gazing down, seeming unable to tear his eyes away.

 

“Use your fingers first,” Jingim's voice was breathy. Marco slipped an oily finger into Jingim, slowly and gently, afraid of hurting him. “Now two,” Jingim urged him. Marco was so hard and ready, his cock looked painful. Finally, Marco whispered, “I can wait no longer,” and removed his fingers from Jingim's body. Jingim lifted his legs onto Marco's shoulders, his mouth slack. Marco leaned forward and slowly entered Jingim with his cock. Marco had such a look of pure bliss on his face, Jingim gazed at him with tenderness feeling desire stir in his belly.  
As Marco started rocking gently into him, Jingim relaxed and closed his eyes to the sensation of the hot slide of cock filling him, his arms holding Marco's waist tightly, his knees gripping Marco's shoulders. Marco's thrusts became deeper, harder, their panting in unison the only sound other than crickets in the grass. Jingim grasped Marco's hands and they steadied each other like that, hands held tightly in the air, bodies slapping and sliding, until the thrusts became more erratic and Marco orgasmed with a moan and a gasp. Keeping Marco still within him, Jingim slid his legs down to Marco's waist and Marco leaned down into a deep impassioned kiss. They stayed like that, breathing each other’s air, kissing and nibbling lips, stroking arms and shoulders, feeling each other as closely as two bodies can.

But, as in all things, the moment was over and the night air was chilling. They moved apart and slowly stood, reluctant to let the other go. They dressed in silence and finally Marco said quietly, “Why didn't you just kill me earlier? Why come here with me tonight? What am I to you?”

Jingim thought for a moment before answering. “You can be nothing to me.” Marco's face stilled in shock but Jingim wasn't finished. “And, you are everything to me. You are a thorn in my garden, a fly in my tea. You torture my mind, you bring out the worst in me. But, you are also every joy, every scent and sensation. You are warmth and light and you are where desire is born.” Jingim pressed his face against Marco's hair and inhaled deeply, arms around him, holding tightly to the embrace.

“Jingim... you are-”

“Prince.”

“Prince Jingim, you are more than I ever thought possible,” Marco brushed his lips along Jingim's face. Jingim heard the horses nicker softly and knew the spell was broken. He bent to pick up the bed roll and started stowing it on his saddle. Jingim swung up onto his mare, and Marco mounted his little horse as well. As they rode back to the palace in silence, they glanced toward one another occasionally. The horses moved close so that their knees bumped against each other. Jingim reached over to take Marco's hand and they rode on in silence.


End file.
